Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420851" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Lydia Maria Child</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">ON READING HER POEM IN 'THE STANDARD.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The sweet spring day is glad with music,<br>But through it sounds a sadder strain;<br>The worthiest of our narrowing circle<br>Sings Loring's dirges o'er again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O woman greatly loved! I join thee<br>In tender memories of our friend;<br>With thee across the awful spaces<br>The greeting of a soul I send!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What cheer hath he? How is it with him?<br>Where lingers he this weary while?<br>Over what pleasant fields of Heaven<br>Dawns the sweet sunrise of his smile?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Does he not know our feet are treading<br>The earth hard down on Slavery's grave?<br>That, in our crowning exultations,<br>We miss the charm his presence gave?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why on this spring air comes no whisper<br>From him to tell us all is well?<br>Why to our flower-time comes no token<br>Of lily and of asphodel?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I feel the unutterable longing,<br>Thy hunger of the heart is mine;<br>I reach and grope for hands in darkness,<br>My ear grows sharp for voice or sign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still on the lips of all we question<br>The finger of God's silence lies;<br>Will the lost hands in ours be folded?<br>Will the shut eyelids ever rise?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O friend! no proof beyond this yearning,<br>This outreach of our hearts, we need;<br>God will not mock the hope He giveth,<br>No love He prompts shall vainly plead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then let us stretch our hands in darkness,<br>And call our loved ones o'er and o'er;<br>Some day their arms shall close about us,<br>And the old voices speak once more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No dreary splendors wait our coming<br>Where rapt ghost sits from ghost apart;<br>Homeward we go to Heaven's thanksgiving,<br>The harvest-gathering of the heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420851" data-title="To Lydia Maria Child de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="ON READING HER POEM IN 'THE STANDARD.'


The sweet spring day is glad with music,
But through it sounds a sadder strain;
The worthiest of our narrowing circle
Sings Loring's dirges o'er again.

O woman greatly loved! I join thee
In tender memories..."></div>
</div>
</div>